There is something going on with me that I am failing to understand. You’d have thought that, as a Bipolar sufferer, I would be used to a lack of understanding but no – it still troubles me. I’m deep within what seems to be a prolonged low mood culminating in a debilitating lack of motivation to get out of bed, wash, talk or keep up with household duties. My social anxiety is reaching critical levels which in turn serves a large dish of paranoia and feelings of alienation and loneliness. I feel as though I am wading through gelatinous water; everything is sluggish, wrong and grimy… My mind is a swamp of fears, worries and endless scenarios of failure both real and imagined; my past mistakes are on repeat in the movie theatre of my mind – there is no exit, no off switch in sight. I have no drive or desire to fight my way out of this one, though I also have no desire to live this way. My appearance upsets me, I am not taking care of myself and I simply cannot find the energy nor the will to fix that. My house is falling down around me, my responsibilities are gaining weight and I am buckling under the self-inflicted pressure. I am edging towards the precipice of insanity and the fall looks appealing from here. The farce, the face of ‘I’m ok’ is in full force, indicating the harsh nature of this particular episode; I have isolated myself, there is no help and I don’t want any. Let me revel in my misery, let me give up.
How can I begin to fight when these are the things my treacherous mind is telling me? This is the vortex of woe encapsulating my every thought. Where can I find the will to move, to live, to breathe? Depression lies,! I know this – I say this to others, but it doesn’t help because something in me, the illness in me, wants this and oh wouldn’t it be so much easier to crumble; not at all more pleasant but so much easier. Can I really see myself managing in this way for the rest of my life? No, it’s not sustainable, this is no way to live; I can’t cope.
I want to scream at people about how hard this is, I want them to understand my pain and the weight of insanity pressing upon me. Am I just one surge of hormones away from the edge? I want to feel sorry for myself but I don’t want sympathy, I want understanding without pity… I want the impossible, I want to be normal; I want to be able to have a bar of chocolate without craving ten others because I have a really messed up relationship with food, I want to be able to go to sleep without having to meditate for 2 hours or to know, without doubt or fear, that I can stay awake for the entire day, I want to be normal! I don’t want to live this way, I want to be like everyone else, I want to be able to do things without having to think about how it might affect my illness, I want to live without having to pander to mental illness first.
I miss my therapist. Our last session was on Tuesday and already I am in physical pain from the loss. I feel as though I have lost a limb, a vital part of my coping mechanism and it has thrown me. I can’t do this.
I feel as though I am at a crossroads, I know it is rather cliché but there is a choice about to be made that is suspending me in a temporary limbo – I can either miraculously find the will to carry on, move forward and manage this bitch of an illness or I can fall into the warm embrace of nothingness; never to return. Somehow I need to find the appeal in moving forward.
What is the point of me? I’ve asked this question so many times in my life; perhaps everyone does at some point in their lives. I don’t see the point in me, beyond being a mother to my children I am nothing. I do nothing. Can I find something to make myself feel worthwhile, whilst battling my mind? This disease seems to take all of me, I have nothing left to be somebody as well. So what is the point?
I am almost 28 years old, can I really fight this thing for the rest of my life? and just how long is that life likely to be when I am attached indefinitely to a plethora of medications? and will I always be alone? who could ever knowingly choose to live with me and my illness?
So many questions, not an answer in sight. I once wrote a poem with a very apt line to describe this post ‘…puddles of emotion pooling at my feet…’ but hopefully, things can only get better…